


Flowers by another name

by toutcequonveut



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Genderqueer Character, Nonbinary Character, Original Character(s), Trans Character, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23296729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toutcequonveut/pseuds/toutcequonveut
Summary: After the war, Dudley does his best to raise his children in a way that would make Vernon and Petunia gasp in horror. While his oldest is not magical, she is trans. A glimpse into the lives of these Dursleys.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter
Comments: 46
Kudos: 228
Collections: HP TransFest 2020





	1. Dudley Dursley

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fest fic ever and I hope I did your prompt justice! My outline actually had two additional perspectives to add and it's all planned out and everything, but I mismanaged my time >3> Maybe I’ll add those two chapters as a side story later on....  
> Anyway, happy reading and hope you enjoy!
> 
> Prompt 257: Dudley Dursley's child isn't magical but they are trans. By chance, they run into a Next Gen character at muggle Pride. They enjoy each other's company and exchange numbers, all without knowing the connection their parents have to each other.
> 
> Thank you to pisaster and notobvioustome for sensitivity reading, and to everyoneinspaceisgay for beta reading! :)

Guilt.

It is an emotion that Dudley Dursley only learns after that fateful day when wizards and witches came to take him, his mum, and his dad away from the only home he’d ever known. Initially, he’d been upset, but that had quickly died away and was replaced by fear. He well remembered the incident two years ago involving the inexplicable fear and dread that Harry had saved him from, after all. His parents don’t, can’t, won’t understand the depth of misery he had felt, and that’s evident by the way they rage and complain about ‘freakish freaks pushing us out of our home’ rather than noting the tight-lipped tenseness with which the wizards acted. Dudley saw it though, and he realizes that his parents will never understand the extent to which the wizards are helping his family with no clear benefit to themselves.

That still isn’t the moment he truly knows guilt, though. Not even the awkward handshake and words he’d exchanged with his cousin had prompted it; no, it was only after he and his parents had settled in a one-room cottage somewhere in the next town over that he suddenly realized he might never see Harry again. 

The wizards hadn’t said much, just deposited them near the house and left, but Harry had mentioned a little about a war being on. And it occurred to Dudley that the wizards probably wouldn’t bother rehoming just any normal people. This, combined with the way the wizards had covertly glanced at Harry throughout the moving process and the fact that Harry is not here in the cottage with them (his relationship with the Dursleys notwithstanding), leads Dudley to the conclusion that Harry, despite being barely 17 years old and thus firmly still a _child_ , is involved in this war. 

Dudley is just beginning to figure out this whole “putting yourself in others’ shoes” thing, but he’s finding that it serves to make him feel very, very bad because when he considers himself, the same age as Harry, who’s going off to fight in a war, he finds that he doesn’t like the idea _at all._

The months pass, and Dudley finds his thoughts occupied by Harry. With no cousin around and armed with the knowledge that the random terrorist attacks in the news are related to the war that his cousin is involved in, Dudley begins to think backwards. He reviews every instance he can recall of Harry living at 4 Privet Drive and quickly comes to the realization that they had all treated Harry like one of those child abuse victims Aunt Petunia would tut over in the news (it must be stated that she tended to tut over how she would never do anything so vile to her Dudders while somehow miraculously ignoring the hypocrisy of her words). 

By the time the terrorist attacks stop and he heads off to uni as the incoming favorite for the boxing team, he’s certain of at least one thing: he and his parents have horribly, horrendously mistreated Harry, and groveling wouldn’t even be enough to start making amends. Guilt gnaws at his insides daily, causing him to develop a nervous habit of wrapping an arm around his belly. Here’s the problem though: Dudley has no way of finding out if Harry survived the war. He can’t even begin to work on assuaging his guilt to his cousin because his cousin is missing and, given his experiences with the Dursley household, he will probably stay missing from their lives forevermore. Who could blame him? Dudley certainly can’t.

It comes to a head in uni when Dudley sees a boy on campus with dark skin and wildly messy black hair and almost calls out to him, only for the boy to turn around and… it’s not Harry. Of course it’s not. Because Harry fought a war so that normal, non-magical people could go on living, and now he’s not living in that world of normal, non-magical people. 

His arm is around his middle already, and now his other hand is raised to cover his mouth. He hurries back to his dorm, ignoring his mate who had been walking with him. Jake ends up worriedly following him back to his room and stands by him, a comforting hand on his shoulder, while Dudley cries and retches up the empty contents of his stomach into the toilet. 

That bit of kindness sends Dudley even further into the deep pit of guilt. Why should anyone show him kindness? He’d done enough bad in the world that nothing good should happen to him ever again. 

He says as much to Jake, who looks at him carefully.

“Duds, it sounds like you’re going through a really rough time right now. I’m here for you and I’ll listen to whatever you want to tell me, but I think you might also find it helpful to try seeing a therapist. I can introduce you to mine, if you’d like?”

It’s the first time Dudley has ever heard of therapy in a neutral/positive tone rather than the disparaging way his dad would comment on characters who saw therapists on the telly. There, on the floor of his bathroom, he makes a decision that will continue guiding his life from then on: he takes a step away from his upbringing under Vernon and Petunia and agrees to try out therapy.

It wouldn’t have worked on the person he’d been just one year before. Lingering thoughts of Harry have pushed him to _want_ to be a better person though, and in combination with the kindly therapist Jake introduces him to, he begins to sort out his tangled mess of emotions and thoughts. 

One might imagine that being raised by Vernon and Petunia Dursley and emulating them during the formative years would lead to a certain amount of emotional illiteracy, and in that case one would be right. It’s tough for Dudley because on the one hand, he knows his parents as loving, supportive parents, but on the other hand, they _abused a child_ and set him up to be just like them, and that is _not okay._

Evelyn, his therapist, reminds him that rarely all of one person is bad, so it takes him a while to figure out how to separate out what of his parents’ behavior was acceptable or unacceptable. Part of the difficulty is that he’d broken off with all of his old friends (not like he’d want to model his behavior after the parents of bullies anyway), so he has no other adults to reference and has to parse it all out himself. Evelyn is integral in this endeavor, guiding his thoughts into untangling the parts that he finds agreeable and turning them into tangible goals to work towards. Of all the experiences throughout his years in uni, therapy is definitely ranked as his most important one.

Boxing is a close second because in his final year it brings him happiness in the form of one Sonia Khurana. 

There had been a boxing tournament and all the local schools had come with their teams. Dudley had been turning to say something to Jake when he had caught sight of a boxer on the women’s heavyweight team throwing the most beautiful left hook he’d ever seen. Time seemed to slow down as he watched her fist slowly move forward, grotesquely distorting the face under the headgear it connected with. Black curly hair whipped to the side with the motion, drops of sweat clinging to it as well as the dark skin of her face. 

The moment passes, and time speeds back up as the other boxer goes down. He’s staring though, and he’s still staring when Jake waves a hand in front of his face.

“Huh? What?” Dudley blinks, trying to remember where and who he is when the entire universe has just shifted around him. 

Jake follows his gaze. “Whoa Duds, never knew you to take so quickly to a girl before. You already know I bat for the other team, but I can definitely tell that she’s gorgeous. You should talk to her at the party after this, get to know her a bit.”

“Hmm,” Dudley hums, slipping into another plane of existence as his gaze drifts back to the left hook goddess.

“Hey!” Jake snaps his fingers before his friend’s face. “Back to me! I swear, you better hit it off with her and at least validate this space cadet act you’re playing, mate.”

“Yeah…” Dudley trails off.

Jake is more of a seer than he knows, because it only takes the party and two dates before Dudley Dursley and Sonia Khurana are a couple. Dudley finds that there’s more to her than that left hook. He is fascinated by her intelligence (she’s an accountant! Dudley could never, numbers swim around in his vision too much), by her dedication to being a better person than she was yesterday, and lastly by her beauty (those curves are the stuff of dreams, and Dudley has a _lot_ of dreams involving Sonia. Later on, those dreams will become reality, but that is a different kind of story.)

They get married the following year, in the spring of 2003. Petunia and Vernon had declined to attend after one too many fights with their future daughter-in-law. Dudley fully supported her in these arguments given his parents’ snide comments about her Indian heritage at every possible moment, whether she was present or not (“But Dudders, dear, don’t you think you’d look so much better next to someone who wasn’t quite so… _pigmented?_ ”). 

(This is the final nail in the coffin with Sonia’s attempts to make nice with her fiancé’s parents.) 

Their wedding is beautiful though sparsely attended, Sonia’s parents having been killed in one of the terrorist attacks six years ago. Only her grandmother and two aunts attend from her side, and are almost totally obscured amongst the entire women’s boxing team from uni. Dudley didn’t have a huge cohort of childhood friends to call upon, so his contributions to the guest list were also his uni’s boxing team, plus Evelyn. If his family didn’t want to support his love, then Dudley didn’t need them spoiling his day either. Of course, the reality of knowing that his parents will never understand how amazing and wonderful a person his wife is merits more appointments with Evelyn, but many years from now, both Sonia and Dudley will agree that it was a good choice.

Under an arch of flowers, Dudley sees Sonia approach him and he is overwhelmed with how beautiful she is and how lucky he is to have found someone who is so precious to him and miraculously finds him wonderful as well. It’s a big realization to someone who has dedicated the past three years of his life to becoming a better person, and the love of someone as kind and fair-minded as Sonia Khurana soon-to-be Dursley seems strong proof that his efforts have not been wasted. The first tear slips out, then another, then a steady stream. It’s the first time Dudley truly understands how crying is just an outward showing of emotion and that emotion, in turn, is not something to be embarrassed about. 

Their first child is born in 2006. Sonia has found a job with an accounting firm, and Dudley has used his business degree (which he had been very conflicted about getting due to fear of becoming like Vernon) to take over a mechanic shop. It only takes him a couple months before he realizes that he’d much rather be the mechanic than managing the whole thing. Going back to school delayed the decision to have children by a year or so, but in May, Sonia and Dudley are able to welcome a beautiful baby boy into the world.

Dudley holds his child for the first time and once more, tears well in his eyes. He vows right there in the hospital to be the best father he can be. He’s responsible for this new, tiny life, and he will not allow the same mistakes he’d made as a child to perpetuate in the next generation. Baby Tony grows up knowing love and how to love others. The real test of character arrives with squalling lungs 16 months later, when baby Hayden arrives in the outside world and makes his presence _known_. It only takes three days of constant screaming for Sonia to swear that if one of them ever expresses a desire for babies again, the other has the responsibility of literally _shaking_ that idea out of existence.

As they grow up, the wild difference in appearance between Tony and Hayden becomes increasingly apparent. Hayden looks the same age or older due to inheriting both Sonia and Dudley’s builds. Tony seems to have gotten whatever latent gene passed down from the Evans side, being waif-thin with huge eyes. The stark contrast makes Dudley think of two other boys, from simultaneously an instant ago and a lifetime ago, and he makes another vow: the two children in his household will grow up loving each other.

It’s something he writes in his journal later that night. Dudley has absolutely no way of contacting Harry, so instead he keeps a diary of things he would say to Harry if given the chance. The entries largely consist of parts of his day that Dudley thinks would make Harry think he’s made at least a little amends. It’s a habit he started soon after he and his parents were removed from Privet Drive, when he knew he wouldn’t see Harry again but he hadn’t realized until then that the reason might be because Harry might _die._ Throughout his childhood, Dudley had never once considered the fact that Harry might not be there (for him to torment) because he had _died_. 

That thought then led him to the realization that his own bullying may have led Harry to consider suicide, had he not gone off to boarding school when he did. The day his mind presents this theory to him, Dudley immediately calls Evelyn and schedules an appointment. With her help, he is able to process his guilt and transform it into determination never to let himself or his temper get to the point of harrassment again. He knows he will make mistakes because he’s trying and he’s not perfect, but if he slips, all he has to do is think about a gravestone with the name Harry James Potter on it.

Dudley’s rational brain is fairly convinced that Harry is dead. Sometimes he’ll just stand outside in a busy street and remember how when he was 17, the news would report on a new terrorist attack every hour. Then he remembers the magic that had blown up Aunt Marge, and of that invisible force that had seemed to _suck_ happiness out of him, and wonders what else magic could do in the hands of people who wanted to kill regular, everyday people. It makes him shiver to think about, but the worst part is when he recalls Harry protecting him even at his worst at 15 years old, of how Harry had been in such danger from these same terrorists. Those moments are when he’s most certain that even if the evil terrorists had been stopped, Harry couldn’t possibly be alive. Harry is Dudley’s age, and they were children (as his therapist likes to remind him), so how could he possibly hold his own against terrorists? 

When those thoughts begin to consume him, Dudley goes to his children’s room and gives both of them a big hug and tells them he loves them and will protect them. He devotes himself to providing them happiness and good examples of loving. This leads to frequent trips to nature preserves and farms, because Dudley figures that learning kindness to animals can never go wrong (though he can’t quite bring himself to get near snake exhibits). There are also frequent trips to the local park so that Tony and Hayden can socialize with other children. The two tend to stick together rather than play with unknown kids, though. Eventually, Sonia and Dudley stop trying to push them into making friends, figuring that that time will come soon enough at school anyway.

Thus it isn’t until Tony reaches primary school and Dudley attends one of those parent days that Dudley notices how little his oldest child seems to relate to the other boys in class, shrinking inwards or seeking out the company of the girls instead. It’s especially noticeable when the teacher calls for the boys and girls to do separate activities: Tony will invariably go with the girl’s group unless someone says something. Some of the other parents titter that little Tony seems to be “quite the ladies’ man.”

Dudley just stares at them, dumbfounded. “My kid is _five years old_ and doesn't even understand what dating _is_. What is _wrong_ with all of you?”

This does not exactly enamour the other parents to him.

Later, Dudley has a period of intense anxiety, wondering whether he’s the asshole in this situation. When he and Tony arrive home and he tells her the story while curled up on his side with his head in her lap, her fingers tangling in his hair. Once he’s finished rambling, Sonia leans over and kisses him tenderly, tells him she’s so proud of him for standing up to projecting heteronormativity onto toddlers, ~~and gives him a blowjob.~~

As school goes on, it becomes clear that Tony, while generally a more quiet child, varies between being quiet and _quiet_. Hayden is exceptionally good at picking out the difference between the two and knows just how to bring Tony’s mood up. The bouts of depressed listlessness nevertheless concern Sonia and Dudley, and they spend months fretting.

It’s not until a few years later when Tony is seven years old and Laverne Cox makes headlines that something clicks. Dudley had been watching evening telly as he always does, and as usual his children had crowded into his armchair with him to ask every question under the sun. When the interview with Laverne Cox comes on, Tony asks, “Why is this lady being interviewed?”

Sonia is the one who replies, “She’s a famous actress, and she’s also transgender.”

“What's transi-transij-- transdenjer mean?”

“Transgender, honey. It means that a person was born as another gender than the one they are now.”

“So the pretty lady used to be a boy?”

“Mmm, something like that.” Dudley, who knows even less about transgender people than his wife, is also listening raptly. The air is heavy with something like anticipation, and it’s not lost on him that Tony is more invested in this single conversation than in any other since being able to talk.

“How did she know?”

“I...I don’t actually know, dear. Do you want to come with me and we’ll search the internet to find out more?”

“Okay, Mum.”

Tony goes to bed that night with an oddly pensive look. Three nights later, Dudley and Sonia’s oldest child announces at the dinner table around a forkful of mushy peas, “M’I fimk I’m fransjinter.”

“Manners!” Sonia admonishes. “Swallow first, then talk.”

One swallow, then another. Without looking up from his pie and mash, Hayden reaches out and grasps one hand, squeezing reassuringly. He may not know exactly what is about to be said, but it’s clear that it’s something big based on the grateful smile he gets in return. Returning the expectant gazes of Sonia and Dudley until the boost of courage Hayden gave her suddenly evaporates and the plate of pie and mash suddenly looks much more appealing, her mumbled announcement is almost too soft to be heard.

“I think I’m transgender.”

\--

After that it’s a whirlwind of research for both parents. Dudley, who has never been good at processing large blocks of text, painfully struggles through internet page after internet page before his brilliant wife realizes that there must be clinics that serve transgender people, and they must have brochures that are more simplified and include some sort of guide on raising and supporting a trans child. Dudley asks his therapist who quickly assures him that she has such brochures herself, and then offers to find some clinics to recommend him that can give more specific information on transitioning.

It takes a couple months to settle on one and figure out how their daughter feels about the situation. She’s young, and Dudley and Sonia realize that not everything she thinks now will be the case forever. Dudley and Sonia fully accept that it’s their responsibility as her parents to support her and also make the decisions that she cannot as a child, and they both embrace her transness, it’s just-

It would be so much easier if they knew anyone else who had a trans child. To talk it over with others who knew what they were going through and had lived it, and had advice and anecdotes to ease the way and make sure that they weren’t making any grave errors. 

So it is that Dudley mentions to his therapist how the stress of having a trans child is starting to make his hair fall out. Then his face blanches, and he hurriedly attempts to stave off any awkward interpretations

“Not because she’s trans!” he exclaims. “I love her, and I love that she wants to be herself. It’s… erm… just that I don’t feel like I’m doing the best for her because I just don’t know what I’m doing at all.” He looks at his lap miserably at this last statement, feeling the familiar self-loathing that arises whenever he thinks about his past mistakes. Typically, it arises when he is slammed with some reminder of Harry, and Dudley’s absolute inability to make up for any of the many, many wrongs he had done to his cousin. Those occasions have become less and less frequent over the years as Dudley has continued working on his issues at therapy, but guilt is a stubborn thing and clings to his psyche.

Evelyn gently reaches out and pats his knee. She is a kindly older woman and a familiar face in the queer community; Sonia had told him as much after learning that his therapist was in fact the kindly older lesbian she saw at the monthly LGBT Foundation gatherings. 

(Sonia had never made any attempt to hide her bisexuality and in fact had come out to him on one of their first dates, declaring that she didn’t want to waste her time and emotional involvement if he was going to be a dick about it. Dudley had been surprised by her forthrightness but replied haltingly that he had no problem with it and to please forgive him if he put his foot in his mouth. That had led to a discussion on what Dudley’s parents had been like (and if you think that the Dursleys Sr. felt any more kindly to the LGBTQIA+ community than they did to wizard children, you would be wrong). One thing had led to another, and by the end of that evening they had talked for hours and hours without noticing the amount of time that had passed. Emotionally involved, indeed.

She recommends taking the family to a Pride festival. There’s one soon, given that it’s almost June, and Dudley might be able to meet other supporters and/or parents of trans children. She advises that there are probably networks online as well, but he doesn’t feel secure enough in navigating online spaces to make use of those. In addition to his problems with processing large blocks of text, he had also been burned by posting what he thought was a simple question only to be blasted with responses that required him to comb through other threads to find the definitions for every other word in just one sentence.

Dudley goes home and tells Sonia about Evelyn’s suggestion. Sonia hasn’t been to a Pride festival in years, as something usually comes up the weekend that their local one happens.

(Sonia had confessed the larger reason a few years back, when he had commented that one of the conflicts could easily be moved after she’d spent the week before making odd comments about how Pride would be going on and she was sad to be missing it again. Her face had reddened immediately, and Dudley had been afraid that he’d made some kind of blunder, but then she had replied in a tiny voice, “I’m scared.”

“Of what?” he asked, confused. This was his brave, lovely, courageous wife, the Goddess of the Left Hook. If anything, he was the one who lay claim to the title of Scaredy Cat in the Dursley household.

“Last time I went to Pride, I had a boyfriend that I went with, and some people made some comments about ‘The straights invading Pride’… It wasn’t that bad!” she hurriedly reassures Dudley, who looks like he’s about to cry at the thought of his wife being hurt but also looks like he’ll go out and find the perpetrators of rude comments from 15 years ago. “They just made me embarrassed and feel uncomfortable, and I’m scared that if I show up with you and my family, people would say things again. But at the same time, I don’t want to pretend that I’m not proud of who I am.” She lets out a huge breath in a huff, annoyed. “I guess what I’m saying is that I’m self-conscious.”

Dudley just holds her for a while as she stews. Eventually, he ventures, “Well… do you want to go?”

“Kind of,” she responds. “But also, not really. I don’t think I’m in the right space to confront my own fears right now.” She chuckles at this last statement.

Dudley looks fondly at his wife’s rueful smile and doesn’t push. “You know I love you and I support you no matter what.”

She returns his smile with one of her own dazzlingly lovely ones. “Yeah, I know.”)

This seems like the perfect year for said other conflicts to become the events that are brushed aside. The two broach the topic with their children that same evening, which leads to the sudden prioritization of an issue that’s been going on for months: 

The Dursley daughter has not been able to find a name that suits her.

She insists that she decide on a name before Pride or else she won’t go. She’s been thinking about it for months, responding to her old nickname, but her dislike shows clearly on her face no matter how she tries to pretend that it doesn’t. The disappointed and downtrodden look is enough to make Dudley and Sonia stop using that name, though they are at a loss as to what to call her. Hayden is the one who solves the issue by calling her increasingly dramatic names, like Dearest Lady, Honorable Sister, Sister of Utmost Repute, etc. Sonia jumps on this solution immediately, co-opting and adding to the increasingly elaborate names that Hayden comes up with. Dudley, in contrast, feels uncomfortable being grandiose in his verbiage so usually defaults to just “honey”, “darling”, or other terms of endearment. At the very least, those names are not something Vernon would call his son, and he counts anything he does that Vernon would not as a check in his parenting book (not that anyone’s counting).

(Okay fine, Dudley’s counting.)

(In his journal to Harry.)

Her teachers at school are aware that she’s trans and also avoid calling her by name, using her last name if absolutely necessary. She realizes that it’s a tad strange not to have a name, and it’s not like she’s _not_ trying, it’s just. A name that is chosen has a certain level of significance, and she wants to get it right this first time despite her parents assuring her that if she ever needs to again, she can change it again.

One day, Dudley takes his daughter to a florist. They go out every week on some sort of new activity as part of a measure Sonia had come up with to help encourage both parents to get to know their children better, particularly their daughter. Ever since she came out to them, she’s been trying to figure out what sorts of feminine things she actually likes as opposed to what she feels like she _should_ like. Hence, the florist today. 

They wander the flower shop aimlessly for less than five minutes before the sandy-haired florist emerges from the depths of a hydrangea display.

“Hello!” he greets enthusiastically. “I’m the florist, Neville. Can I offer you any assistance?”

He’s a heavyset man with built arms with the kindest face Dudley has ever seen (besides Evelyn’s). Dudley’s usual aversion to overly eager shopkeepers is abated by how very _nice_ this man looks. He and his daughter exchange glances and she shrugs. “What type of flowers do girls usually like?” Dudley asks.

The florist appears to have sensed the ignorance of both customers to the wondrous marvels of his botanical delights because what follows is a very thorough tour of literally every display. Dudley is quite certain there’s a pocket dimension in this flower shop because there’s no way this much space existed within the confines of the building they’d walked into. Then he remembers people walking into green flames in his fireplace when he was fourteen and makes a quick, discreet glance around to check if there are any signs of wizardry in this shop. Not finding anything, he tunes back in just in time for the florist to present a joyful arrangement of petunias and lilies. 

Dudley pauses, and a lump forms in his throat. His daughter immediately notices that something is wrong. Tears slip onto Dudley’s face unbeknownst to him while his breathing turns shallow, staring at the gentle blooming flowers. 

“Dad?” his daughter asks carefully. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

He shakes himself out of it, attempts to return to normalcy for her sake. “Nothing at all, sugarbug. Do you like these?”

“Dad, something was definitely wrong. Is it these flowers? What’s wrong with them?”

And Dudley sighs, because he may not want to talk about this, but he wants to lie to his daughter even less. His parents had lied to Harry, had kept both his magical and cultural heritage from him for years and years, so in keeping with his vow to never parent like his parents, Dudley had sworn never to lie directly to his children.

“You know your grandmother, my mother? The one you only met twice?”

She thinks for a moment. “Was that at that weird house where I couldn’t touch anything? And she made me wash my hands four times because I looked dirty?”

Dudley internally swears at the reminder of his mother’s racism. The incident in question had happened several years ago. Petunia had been giving pointed remarks on meeting her grandchildren for the past four years. The picture Dudley had sent did not suffice, she insisted. Sonia and Dudley had finally relented for this one visit and then lived to regret it. Petunia had refused to believe how dark her grandchildren’s skin was and had insisted the pigmentation could be washed off. Dudley had yelled then that if she couldn’t accept his children or his wife as they were, she could damn well accept their absence in her and Vernon’s lives. She never called again after that, but her Facebook account shows that she’s alive and well and even faking Christmas cards from him to maintain the facade of a functional, _normal_ family.

“That’s the one, love. I’m sorry for bringing her up, you know your mum and I don’t hold with that kind of behavior. But she’s still my mum, so I have a hard time with my feelings about her. Her given name is Petunia.” Here, he points to the joyful pink flowers, bobbing slightly in the light breeze that wafts through the shop. Looking past them, he indicates the fiery orange blooms just behind with a wave of his meaty hand. “Her sister’s name was Lily. I don’t know much about her--” and what he had heard, he wouldn’t trust to be truthful anyways “--but the two of them were apparently very close as children.”

It’s something he’d picked up in the bitterness outlining his mother’s mouth as she ranted about Lily one day long ago. He no longer remembers what she said, but that memory of her lips twisted into a grimace with such resentful pain in her eyes has haunted the back of his mind ever since, particularly after his guilt over Harry manifested.

Children are much more perceptive than we give them credit for. As the saying goes, they are blank slates. Their only way to gain more experience is to learn, so of course they must be. But their bumbling steps forward into a world new to them mislead us to the wide range of things they will pick up. 

And so it is that the Dursley daughter notes the pain lingering in Dudley, understands that what Mum is to her, Grandma Petunia had been to him once upon a time. Despite her grandmother’s deep flaws, she realizes that her dad can’t help but still love her, in a complicated way. But his dedication to being a parent himself means that he will not let anybody, not even his own mother, let his children think they are less worthy than others. 

She hugs her dad tightly, then wanders around some more with the florist who has an odd look in his eye but launches back into explanations of each plant they pass. Eventually, she stops before a row of roses and looks to her dad. “I’ve decided,” she says seriously. 

Dudley and the florist both peer forward expectantly. He is excited to see which bunch of flowers she’s decided to take home. Secretly, he is relieved that this trip hadn’t been a flop like some of his other attempts to establish a father-daughter bond. He shudders to remember the horse incident. In his defense, he hadn’t realized horses were that intimidating, so he’s glad his daughter didn’t turn out to be a “horse girl” after all.

So when she opens her mouth and “Dahlia Dursley” comes tumbling out, it’s a great surprise to the two adults in the shop. It takes Dudley a second to reroute and connect that while he was trying to figure out if his daughter likes flowers, she had been choosing a name. And the name itself… for the second time that day, tears well forth from Dudley’s eyes.

Despite all that they have done, Petunia and Vernon are the only family that he has left (he resolutely does not think of Harry). Acknowledging a time where that family was happier and healthier, if only in the form of a name that Petunia might never hear…

Dudley kneels down and folds his daughter into his arms. “It’s perfect,” he whispers in her ear.


	2. Dahlia Dursley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about twice as long as the previous one. Sorry (but not really)!

At the age of nine, Dahlia Dursley attends her first Pride festival. There will be more in her future, but this one is the one that stands out in her memory most for several reasons.

The first reason is that this is her First Event since coming out as trans. In a sense, it’s her debut into society and she intends to look and feel her best. As such, her thick and curly dark hair (which has finally grown long enough for her to get it cut in a style that makes her feel cute) hangs in a single French braid just past her shoulders. She is wearing a set of pale blue jean overalls over a short-sleeved shirt with light pink and white stripes and a pair of bright white sneakers with pink laces. Hayden has completed her outfit with a brightly hued red dahlia he’d found from… somewhere (Dahlia will make sure not to walk too closely by her overzealous-gardening neighbor Mr. Larchmere anytime today just in case) that he tucks carefully into her hair at the top of her braid. All in all, she looks cute and is hiding her nervousness behind a barrier of confidence that she looks her best.

She arrives at the crowded streets holding Hayden’s hand in a death grip and flanked by her parents. Her parents have never been comfortable in large crowds, even more so in locations where they feel a bit out of place; however, Dahlia knows that nothing will stop them from supporting their daughter. Carefully, they begin to explore.

The night before, family bonding night had involved looking up which events of the weekend looked most interesting. Dahlia had felt touched by her dad’s enthusiasm for the parental support group. He’d even double-checked and asked Mum to ensure that it was a gathering place for the parents of LGBTQIA+ children, not wanting to crash someplace he wasn’t welcome.

That had seemed like the perfect escape from boredom for her and Hayden. She brought up how _obviously_ she wouldn’t want to crash a meeting not meant for her _either_ , so wouldn’t it make much more sense for the two of them to not attend with their parents and enjoy the _inflatables course_ nearby?

It had taken some time to convince Sonia “Overprotective” Khurana Dursley of this, but eventually the parents had relented, though Dahlia and Hayden were not, under _any_ circumstances, to leave the inflatables area through the duration of the entire meeting. In addition, they would be given Sonia’s phone for emergencies.

Both of the children had looked at each other in wide-eyed incredulity at this last statement. Then they turned and met eyes with their dad who was making the same expression, and then all three of them swiveled to fix Sonia with their stares.

“What?” Sonia cried. “It’s not _that_ weird of a suggestion!”

The confusion, of course, did not have at all to do with the logic or rationality of the decision. Of course a nine and seven-and-a-half year old should at least have precautions if they are to be left alone, which was against Sonia and Dudley’s better judgment anyway. But no, the real surprise is that Sonia has always made clear her feelings on the evils of social media and secondarily, mobile technology. Hayden can almost perfectly imitate a particular speech of hers railing at how the illusion of availability due to mobile devices has led to an inability to simply exist without worrying about missing a call or text. 

So it is that Dahlia’s mum and dad drop their children off at the inflatables course. They stick around and watch the chaos for fifteen minutes before leaving for their meet-and greet. Dahlia is glad that they’ve gone, because their nervous stares had been making her feel self-conscious. She hopes her parents will console themselves with the memory of last night’s discussion; namely, that Hayden will _absolutely_ let _everyone_ know if anyone is bothering him or his sister. Dad has said before that Hayden’s voice could break glass if he tried hard enough. Dahlia, on the other hand, _knows_ that Hayden’s voice is capable of breaking glass. 

(It does not occur to her that this is not something a normal child is able to do. Instead, she chalks it up to another one of her amazing younger brother’s talents.)

The inflatables course is ridiculously fun. It’s so fun that the siblings rush through it again and again, undeterred by the wait time in between each run given the huge crowd of children with the same idea. Hayden is particularly graceful, managing not to bump his mother’s phone at _all_ despite the crazy maneuvers he pulls while racing Dahlia through the puffed-up obstacles. Mum would be glad to know that the gymnastics lessons she’d enrolled both of them in two years ago (but that only Hayden had stuck with) were being put to such good use.

At some point, when Dahlia is _so closely in front of Hayden_ and her all is focused on beating her brother, she torpedoes her body headfirst through the little square leading to the giant slide finish. In so doing, she absolutely _skull bashes_ another dark-haired head which had inexplicably been in the opening. Luckily, her momentum is enough that she doesn’t fall back through the square and down the climbing wall she has just scaled, but it’s a near thing. Hands grab her arms and pull her through the little window and onto the safety of the platform. She’s still dazed, but the shock is starting to wear off and pain and ire are seeping in.

“What’s the big idea?” she yells, her gaze unfocused. She’s not sure which of the children standing before her is at fault for her aching head until she catches sight of a dark mop of hair on a kid straightening up in the background, adjusting a pair of glasses that are a tad too large for the head they sit upon.

The bigger kid nearer to her with light brown hair steps into her line of vision and flashes an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that! Al over here lost their glasses right at the finishing area so we were just having a look around. Seems like they’ve found them though?” Here, the kid nods towards the dark-haired one who has approached with a sheepish look on their face. “And, ah, looks like your friend already finished the race too. Super sorry about that. Hey, why don’t we go meet them and then I’ll get you an ice cream to make up for it? I’m Jamie, by the way. I’m Al’s older brother, and this is our little sister Lily Luna.” 

Dahlia finally notices the young girl half-hiding behind Jamie, dark red hair impossibly curly atop her little head. “... Dahlia,” she answers. Her head is still aching fiercely, but she feels a twist at hearing the name Lily and is reminded of the day she chose her name, of her father’s pained face. It is, in fact, only this name that gets Dahlia to trust the other kids enough to go with them down the slide to meet Hayden.

(Much, much later, Dahlia will make fun of Jamie for meeting a child younger than him and trying to get her to follow him with the promise of sweets. “I swear, you couldn’t have looked more suspicious if you _tried_ , Jamie.”)

Dahlia clambers to the top of the slide and already, from ten meters away, knows that if she doesn’t get to Hayden _right now_ he will be _distraught_ , to say the least. She can see that he is on the verge of screaming bloody murder at the bottom of the slide, though as she approaches and he hears the characteristic _whizz!_ of bodies hurtling down an inflatable slide, she can see relief melt away the blotchy red patches on his face. Really, it’s for the best if no one gets Hayden worked up. Dahlia is fairly certain that if Hayden had gotten started, the whole square would have been evacuated and only afterwards would the emergency services realize they had no idea why they were there or what the emergency was except that the location was filled with such a sense of urgency that everyone had reacted to it immediately.

(It may take a while to get through his jokey, water-rolls-off-my-back demeanor, but once that wall is broken it becomes clear that the tantrums of Dudley’s past certainly were inheritable and they are all contained in his son, albeit locked behind Sonia’s ruthless practicality and iron conviction.)

When Hayden sees that she’s not alone and has been joined by three other children, he raises an eyebrow. Dahlia doesn’t miss that he’s surreptitiously slipping Mum’s phone back into the zippered bag around his neck and can only hope that he’d seen her _before_ contacting Dad. 

(Everyone in the Dursley household knows that Hayden Dursley is dramatic once he gets started, but Dudley Dursley does not have the benefit of his wife’s ability to put off panic until more information is gathered and is also maybe a _touch_ overprotective.)

(Dudley Dursley? Dramatic? It’s more likely than you think!)

The five kids move away from the end of the inflatables course, Hayden latching onto his sister’s arm and glaring at the other kids suspiciously. Dahlia takes the opportunity to take in details that she hadn’t noticed before due to blunt force trauma.

Jamie, the oldest, has the darkest skin of the trio. Out here in the sun, it’s clear that his hair is actually brown with a tinge of red in it. His mouth looks like it’s accustomed to wearing a broad grin, and his hand is wrapped securely around Lily Luna’s. The young girl looks to be about seven years old. She has wildly curly hair cropped closely to her head, also a dark brown tinged with the slightest of red in sunlight. The middle child, Al, looks the most different of the three siblings. They have straight black hair with the tiniest hint of wave to it, long enough to almost reach those troublesome black-rimmed glasses, and their skin is significantly paler than their brother’s and sister’s. 

“So?” Hayden prompts. “Who are these new… friends… of yours?” He says the word ‘friends’ in the way someone might hold a handkerchief dripping with gross fluids at arms length away from oneself, curious yet disgusted at the same time.

Dahlia explains the situation and introduces the other three, finishing up with Jamie’s offer of purchasing a cold treat for all of them to which Hayden immediately agrees. Jamie opens his mouth to argue against having to buy for Hayden as well, but Al hands over a fiver and reminds him that this is all their parents’ money anyways.

While Jamie, Al, and Lily Luna scamper off to one of the nearby carts selling frozen delights, Dahlia and Hayden remain in the square with inflatables. Jamie had protested that the distance was really nothing, it’s not like it would make much of a difference (and really, how _did_ Jamie manage to seem so incredibly suspicious with every word that left his mouth? It’s almost like he was _trying_ or something). Dahlia replies that their mum will literally throw them into the Pacific Ocean if they even think about disobeying her very clear directive to stay in the park (“Pacific? Does she mean Atlantic?” “Nah, our mum would go the extra distance to show that she puts _effort_ into her threats.”).

What follows is an enjoyable hour hanging out and enjoying each other’s company. Al compliments the trans color scheme of Dahlia’s outfit, starting the conversation between the two of them. It turns out that they aren’t certain of their gender but know for a fact that it’s not the one they were born with. As the two of them start to chat, Dahlia hits it off immediately with them, and the two eventually withdraw into their own bubble of conversation as Hayden and Jamie attempt to one-up each other with ridiculous tales, Lily Luna watching (and listening, and _absorbing_ ) with huge eyes the whole time.

(Years later, when Lily Luna’s dad despairs of his daughter and curses whatever and whoever contributed to her path of childhood pranks and general mayhem, he will have no idea that part of it is attributable to Hayden Dursley as well.)

Eventually, Jamie gets a call and tells his siblings that it’s time to go, their aunt is here to pick them up. Dahlia and Al exchange emails and promise to keep in contact, and the two groups part ways.

“Are you sure that was a good idea?” Hayden asks, after the other three are out of hearing range.

“They’re kids at a Pride fest, Had. They’re not gonna be evil witches or anything.”

Their own parents arrive at the park shortly after, and the relief at finding Dahlia and Hayden fine and just a bit tired out from running around (and eating sweets) is clearly visible in Dad’s demeanor. The two of them surge forward to hug their parents and both immediately begin to chatter about their days, too quickly and overlapping so much that absolutely nothing is comprehensible.

Dahlia mentions that she’d hit her head against someone else, and both parents coo over her but she brushes them off. It barely even aches anymore. Hayden smirks at that and says something about it being because of her hard head. 

This of course requires Dahlia to put him in a headlock and noogie him, demanding, “Who’s got the hard head now!”

Hayden, being much more lithe and flexible than his bulky frame would suggest, manages to escape from the headlock after only a second or two of noogie.

At this point, their mum holds the two apart and states with finality that they are _both_ in for the noogie of their lives if they don’t _quit it_. Dahlia and Hayden instantly sober and straighten up - Mum’s noogies are the stuff of legend. All her boxing expertise from uni didn’t just disappear, after all.

So it is that Dahlia forgets to mention any further details about her new friend Al to her parents. When the family returns home, Mum heads to the kitchen to start heating up dinner, Dad heads to their bedroom to use the computer, and Dahlia and Hayden pound upstairs and into their room to boot up the Chromebook they’ve been allowed as their one access to the internet.

(“Honestly,” Sonia muttered darkly the day she and Dudley had bought the thing. “I hate the thought of them being chained to the thing and developing bad habits, but so much of school nowadays requires them to use a computer. Plus, getting started on typing when they’re younger can only help them in the long run. I’ll get the most basic one and use parental controls, but it’s the principle of the thing, you know?”

The kids had been instructed strictly not to make or join any social media under threat of having the computer taken away. They had also been given an email address because Sonia did feel it was important to know how to write emails, and they used that to communicate with their friends who had phones.

“I draw the fucking line at phones, Duds. What need does an 8-year old have for a phone? If they need anything, they’ll either manage or they’ll manage. We all did, growing up.”)

So with Hayden peering over her shoulder, Dahlia carefully types out a message to Al and their siblings:

> _Dear Al and Jamie and Lily Luna,  
>  This is Dahlia and Hayden from today. We liked talking to you a lot. Do you want to talk more? I think that would be fun. Love, Dahlia and Hayden_

Hayden insists on typing out his own name even though it takes about as long as it took Dahlia to write the whole message. This may or may not be an exaggeration. Immediately after he’s finished, she hits send, and then Mum bellows up the stairs that dinner is ready. Abandoning the laptop on the floor, Dahlia and Hayden race down the stairs to the kitchen. In the excitement for FOOD (it’s pasta casserole tonight!) followed by family movie night, the two forget about the sent email until that night when they’re getting ready for bed and discover the open laptop again. When Dahlia opens her email, there’s a message waiting. All traces of sleepiness vanish as they both begin to read:

> **Dear Dahlia and Hayden,  
>  This is Al. I had lots of fun today. Jamie and Lily Luna say hi as well. I’d like it if we could be friends.  
>  Yours, Al**

Dahlia is touched and very excited, quickly typing out a response before Mum can come in and check on them. If she discovers them using the laptop instead of sleeping… well, it’s best to let sleeping volcanoes lie.

> _Dear Al,  
>  I want to be friends too. What’s your favorite flower?  
>  Yours, Dahlia_

* * *

Dahlia continues to email Al over the next couple of years, and her writing improves with more experience (the day she’d found out that Al had been writing letters since they were _five years old_ was mind-boggling to her. Her parents rarely even receive mail anymore, since everything is online). The two talk about anything and everything, from books they’ve read to their individual experiences with being the only trans members of their households. Having a friend who can relate to her occasional feelings of isolation finally quiets the last bit of uncertainty that had been plaguing her throughout her short life. It’s wonderfully comforting to know that you aren’t the only person in the world who feels the way you do, after all.

Unfortunately, the Dursleys are not able to go to the same Pride fest for the next couple years due to Shenanigans of the Highest Degree. This is Dahlia’s way of saying that circumstances just so happened to line up that the Dursley family is unable to go to this event. Dahlia laments that she won’t be able to meet and hang out with Al, and by this point she’s completely shied away from the idea of telling her mum _anything_ about making friends with strangers she met while no authority figures were present. 

Al replies that their dad wouldn’t care and probably wouldn’t even notice if they snuck away to go meet up with Dahlia somewhere, but that seems like rather a bad plan to a ten-year old girl who does not want to disappoint her mother.

(There is a universal sense among many children, particularly those of the preteen variety. That feeling is “I did something that my parents will probably not like, time to hide it forever until I am lowered into my grave.”)

(Additionally, Sonia Dursley’s middle name is “I fundamentally do not trust the internet with anything and stranger danger applies 500x as much when there could be a disgusting old pervert on the other side of the keyboard what if you get kidnapped oh god never ever give your real name online kids if you do a van will pull up and steal you away from us and do horrible things to you.”)

(Her other middle name is her maiden name.)

> _How about we try not to make a big deal of missing out on hanging out at this one Pride?_ Dahlia emails. _We’ll just have to make sure to be friends for a long, long time, long enough that sometime when my family isn’t caught up in all this random stuff, we can just decide to meet up._

This is agreeable to Al, so the two of them make a virtual pact and mutually decide to move onto other topics that make them less sad. Here is one such exchange:

> _Do you always go by Al? Or is that because I’m kind of a stranger?_
> 
> **It’s Al. I used to be named after two men. My dad says they did great things, but I’m not a boy so I don’t want to be named after any. Dad seemed kind of sad about that, but I reminded him that he already named Jamie and Lily Luna after his parents and he should be happy with two out of three.**
> 
> _Ew, why would you name a brother and sister after your parents? Parents kiss and stuff. Ewwwwww!_

(If it hadn’t already been established that Jamie was called Jamie and never James, and Lily Luna as Lily Luna rather than just Lily, Al would have begun doing so directly after that email exchange with Dahlia)

(This also led to Dahlia referring to Jamie as Luke and Lily Luna as Leia, much to Al’s chagrin)

> _Also isn’t it kind of weird to name everyone after other people? Wouldn’t that mean that eventually, no one would never have their own names?_

(This results in a heated debate about whether the world is already like that or not, an exchange of emails which has been omitted for brevity in the interest of the reader’s time and sanity.)

(Eventually, Al makes a desperate attempt to change the subject to save themself from the ruin of this conversation.)

> **What about you? Was Dahlia always your name?**
> 
> _No. And I don’t really want to talk about it, I don’t like that other name. My name now fits in with my dad’s mum’s family names. My dad doesn’t let us see his mum anymore cuz she didn’t treat us well. But I can tell he feels bad about it because she’s still his mum, you know? Can you imagine never speaking to your mum again? Sometimes my mum yells but it’s usually because Hayden or me might get hurt and she doesn’t want that. I love my mum. Anyway, my dad’s mum and her sister were both named after flowers, seems like it was a thing for girls in their family, so I thought it’d be nice if I followed the tradition too when I chose my new name. I chose my favorite flower from the flower shop and now I’m Dahlia. It’s funny, when Luke told me Leia’s name was Lily Luna, it kind of felt like we should be friends even though I was still a bit scared that you might be kidnappers._

And another such exchange, the next year:

> **So… there’s something I haven’t told you.**
> 
> _Omg please don’t tell me you’re a serial killer_ now _, I’ve gone and gotten attached long ago._
> 
> **You know what, I’ll let you keep making serial killer jokes if you promise to quit it with the whole Luke/Leia thing.**
> 
> _Does the Luke/Leia thing really bother you?_
> 
> **I mean, a little, yeah.**
> 
> _I’ll do that for free then. What was it you wanted to tell me?_
> 
> **I… thanks, I appreciate that. And the news I have to tell you is that I’m going away to boarding school in Scotland this coming fall, and it’s super strict there. I won’t have access to electronic devices at all, let alone internet. I’ll write something for you at least once a week though, like we’ve been doing, and I’ll send it all to you once I come back home for hols. I wish we could talk while I’m at school, but Dad and Mum and even Aunt Hermione say it’d be impossible to get my iPod Touch to work at the school, and if Aunt Hermione says it won’t work, it _definitely_ won’t work. I’m sorry, I really don’t wanna have to not talk to you…**
> 
> _Boarding school? Really? I didn’t know those still existed. Seemed like a made-up thing from old movies. And I guess you can’t help it, huh. Never would have thought you’d want to go to boarding school when your house sounds so wacky and fun all the time. I still can’t believe your dad runs a foster home/orphanage and you_ also _live there - that sounds wicked cool! But anyway, yeah it’ll suck, but we said before that we wouldn’t mope over things we couldn’t help (Hayden moped all DAY yesterday about some boy in his class ignoring him. I said I’d beat up this kid for him to make him stop ignoring him, but Hayden yelled and got really red and said that that was not at all the kind of attention he wanted from the boy. I don’t get Hayden sometimes, wouldn’t he just be glad the boy stopped ignoring him?) Anyway, I’ll just send a bunch of emoji to describe how I feel and then we won’t keep thinking about how we wish it was different._ 😕😕😕😕😕😕😕😕😕😕😕😕😕😕😕😕😕😕😕😕😕

* * *

Autumn that year seems longer than any other in her life to date. Dahlia decides that she will one-up Al’s promise to write her something every week and write him an email every _day_. This only occupies so much of her time compared to her previous marathon emailing with Al every Sunday (the only day that Mum would allow her to use the computer for up to _two_ hours!). Bored out of her mind, Dahlia resolves to find a hobby.

Gymnastics had caught on with Hayden, but Dahlia hadn’t enjoyed it at all. The other girls were not her type of people, and she felt stiff and awkward and not graceful at all. Deciding that what she needs is a sport to get involved in, she asks her dad for suggestions.

So Dahlia finds herself in a boxing class, and it’s close to what she wanted but still not quite what she was looking for. That’s when the instructor recommended MMA. She wasn’t certain when he explained it verbally, but then he shows her a YouTube video and she’s hooked.

Armed with an extracurricular activity, Dahlia finds it easier to pass the time until winter holidays, when Al will come back. They hadn’t specified which date they’d be home, but they had mentioned that they’d definitely be around for Christmas.

On 24 December 2017, Dahlia opens her email to write a new note to Al and finds a message from them in her inbox! She opens it quickly, filing away the information that 24 December is the day her friend will return from that horrible Scottish boarding school for the next seven years. Not that Dahlia knows anything about the actual characteristics of the school, since Al had never been there previously and they hadn’t emailed her since August, but it’s bad anyway because it took Al away from her. She and Al may have agreed not to mope about not being able to write, but she never agreed not to form a grudge against the school itself.

She reads the email, which is similar in appearance to diary entries. Dahlia idly wonders how a school can get away with not including technology in their curriculum, given the state of today’s society. Her smile fades a little as she takes note of exactly how often this S kid is mentioned.

Al is _her_ best mate, okay? If some other kid wants to claim her position, they could damn well at least _fight_ her for it. And Dahlia has been training _a lot_ at her MMA classes. When she finishes reading the whole email, she has come to two conclusions.

The first is that her attempt to one-up Al has failed because they _also_ wrote her something every single day. Guiltily, she bites her lip because while Al’s entries had all been thoughts and stories of their day that they wrote down because they specifically thought Dahlia would enjoy them, Dahlia had focused a little too much on the principle of sending _a_ message every day rather than the content of it. As such, there are several emails that contain such riveting compositions as the following:

_Sup sup sup. It was cloudy today. A shocker there, I know. Dad made a quiche today for dinner and Mum was so upset. Not because it was bad, mind you, but because it was so good and she hates letting the French have any victories. Okay, talk to you next time. Yours, Dahlia_

Resolving to do better the next term that Al goes off to boarding school, Dahlia mulls over her second conclusion: this S who is so close to Al is a real threat and therefore her enemy. Best Friend status will not be ceded so easily as that, boarding school or no! So of course she asks more about this S, because as much as Al has written about what they get up to with S, they have not written much about the boy himself, and it is vital to know thy enemy.

* * *

When summer 2018 rolls around and Al returns home again, Dahlia knows all about this S (except for his name, which Al refuses to tell her for some reason). She’s all prepared to chew Al’s ear off for going and finding someone to try and replace her in person, but then her parents blow those plans apart.

Once again, the family will be headed out of town for Pride. Her dad had assumed that the festival would fall on the same weekend as before and so had planned a vacation for the weekend before. However, for some reason the planners had decided to plan the festival for that same weekend. So it is that instead of seeing Al this year, Dahlia will be seeing Cornwall and the beach, and her mum will be seeing the inside of a boring meeting room. Part of the reason her dad had planned for Cornwall was because of her mum’s planned business trip, it seemed. 

So off the Dursley family goes on vacation to the beach.

In retrospect, it was maybe not the best location to choose for a vacation, but it’s too late to change plans now. The best part was the Airbnb they have booked; Dahlia’s mum _loves_ Airbnbs. She says that they have character and that she loves seeing what kinds of wacky things other people do with their homes. As a result, Dahlia and Hayden make it a point to discover every wacky thing in the rooms that they can find. When they’ve gotten close to breaking something one time too many, their mum sends them “Out!” to go play on the beach or something where they can’t accidentally destroy something.

Later, Dahlia emails Al about befriending a French couple’s children on this beach (“Though I’m not telling Mum that they’re French, of course. Honestly, at this point I think she played up hating the French once and had such fun with it that it became a personality trait for her and now it’s one of our family memes.”). The emailed tale goes like this:

> _So Had and I were looking around and there were all these rocks, yeah? And then this little kid with the blondest hair I’ve ever seen just kind of leaps out from behind some rocks and comes_ sprinting _over to us. I thought Had was going to punt this kid if he came any closer, but he stopped a fair distance away and asked who we were. And he’s like, seven years old, so we told him our first names and then he asked us to play with him. That’s when his sister popped out, also from nowhere, and started yelling at him for talking to strangers, which made_ me _feel better about talking to them at any rate. Anyway, we spent the weekend running around the beach with them, and at the end of it Dom gave us her and Louie’s address so we could write to them. She said they didn’t have a computer (whomst?? does not have a computer these days) so it was a home address, and you know Mum would absolutely fly off the handle if we gave out our home address without her knowing the person, so we just told them we’d write to them. Turns out that the address was wrong, though, so I guess I’ll never see them again lol. It’s a fun story though, at any rate._

* * *

It seems that someone is toying with Dahlia, because every summer is a new reason why she cannot attend Pride and meet Al. At this point, she has become fixated on that goal, and Hayden has asked her multiple times why they can’t just meet up someplace besides Pride. But Dahlia has a goal and an old promise to meet Al again at the same Pride where they first met, and she’s going to keep to it.

So it takes her as a bit of a surprise when the next year’s interference arrives in the form of a family trip to Romania for (once again) a business trip/family vacation. The vacation thing… okay. But _Romania_? Who could have guessed? Dahlia’s never been out of England before, so this is a real adventure and she finds that at least this is a worthy activity to be occupied with instead of meeting her friend.

And when she and Hayden are exploring and Hayden drags her into what she’s almost certain was a fevered daydream, she writes the following to Al:

> _I am never eating stuff I find in the forest ever again. They looked just like regular berries, but then I hallucinated so hard. It was the weirdest thing. Had was dragging me through a forest and I kept telling him we had to go, I didn’t have a good feeling about this and I was literally feeling ill, and then we got to this huge clearing and I couldn’t see any trees for miles and miles. And all around us were people tending to_ dragons. Dragons _Al, can you imagine? They were absolutely fantastic. This one redheaded British guy was there too, which was weird because everyone else was Romanian in my dream. He actually managed to get one of the dragons to let him ride her, and he was so graceful! And there was this one lady who was super gruff and cool. I want to be her when I grow up. And her wife was trans, like me! We had tea and the trainers told us all about the dragons, and then we left. Forest berries, Al. They give you really vivid hallucinations. Had says he saw the same thing and he’s pretty certain the whole thing actually happened, but there’s no such thing as dragons and there_ are _such things as hallucinatory forest berries, so I’m gonna go with my explanation._

(Outside of the hearing range of the two children, the following exchanges were had amongst the dragon trainers:

“Oh my fucking fuckity fuck what the hell do we do why are there _children_ on the reserve?!”

“Calm down, freaking out is _not_ going to help. I don’t see any adults with them, so why don’t we just let them have a nice time while keeping them where we can see them? What kind of kid would turn down the opportunity to be on a _dragon reserve_ , huh?”

“...Okay, point.”

“They don’t seem to know much about magic. You don’t think… could they be nonmagical?”

“Oh my fucking fuckity wuckity what if they _are?_ We’ll have broken, I don’t know, _the biggest international law that our nations can agree on together?_ I’m too young and pretty to go to jail!”

“Florin, literally shut up, we’re all equally pretty here and none of us are going to jail. They probably haven’t gotten to that part in their schooling yet. Do you remember what the hell you learned in first or second year, Charlie?”

“T-- you know what? No, no I don’t. The only thing I remember from first year was learning Wingardium Leviosa. Maybe? Or maybe that was in second year? Could have been third year, even.”

“You see? They just haven’t learned about this stuff yet. And if they’re British like you, chances are they go to Hogwarts, which, as you’ve said before, doesn’t let the students take Care of Magical Creatures until much too late.”

“Isn’t it second or third year? That’s not so late--”

“Oh trust me, it’s _way_ too late. Think of all the dragons I could have been learning about before then!”

“...Okay Charlie.”)

* * *

The following summer is the first time Dahlia and Hayden are able to go to Pride since that first meeting with Al and their siblings. Unfortunately, Al’s family will be away on a retreat of their own this year. Still, Dahlia does want to go and check out the festivities.

At Pride, she runs into the absolute poshest-looking kid she’s ever met looking incredibly lost and as if he’s been separated from his group. Then he opens his mouth and that impression of him evaporates quicker than a single raindrop in the Sahara. He is lost, but the first thing he says is “What are _you_ looking at?”. In addition to being demanding and somewhat rude, he’s also incredibly weird and doesn’t know basic things. Dahlia says as much to Al in her next email:

> _He told me it was because he’s French, and then he started telling me all these ways that the French do things differently and better than the British. I’m not so sure that all of them are true, but I honestly don’t know and don’t feel like looking it up, so I’m just gonna accept it as canon until proven otherwise lolol. Seemed like he felt bad about being rude at the beginning though, because he got me a trans colors candy floss! I had no idea what he was talking about when he asked what my colors were at first lol. Had and I helped him find his twin friends, and then we went our separate ways. So yeah, definitely a weird kid, and I realize now that I never got his name. Wonder if I’ll ever see him again._

* * *

The next year, when she is fourteen years old, Dahlia finally puts her foot down.

“Mum,” she says. “I am making a _social media_ account.”

“No!” her mum screams. “You don’t know how bad it is! Don’t do it!”

“Mum, _you_ have a Facebook.”

“Yes, which is why I can tell you that I wish I didn’t have one.”

Dahlia can feel the tears well up a little bit. She’s always been a frustrated crier, and the embarrassment at coming to tears furthers that frustration. Her solution to this self-perpetuating problem is to avoid any tear-inducing confrontations. Unfortunately, this argument has been a long time coming and will not be evaded now. 

“I just. Want. To talk to my friends,” she grinds out. 

“And why can’t you talk to them in person?” Sonia fires back. 

The tears have welled up and over. “Because you wouldn’t let me do that either!” she wails. 

The whole story comes out then. Dahlia tells the tale of making some friends five years ago who have yet to see each other again. Her mum is at first horrified and then, after Dahlia offers to show the emails to her mum, expresses her great sadness that Dahlia was more afraid of talking to her than of stranger danger. The whole ordeal turns into a heart-to-heart and Dahlia reveals how it was the support and friendship of a trans* person that really helped settle that horrible unanchored feeling and also allowed her to feel confident enough to be as outspoken as she is now.

Her mum allows Dahlia to make whatever social media accounts she likes so long as she promises to talk to Sonia when she’s feeling uncertain, especially if she ever, _ever_ has any concerns. She also makes Dahlia promise not to post her location or identifiable pictures of herself or her surroundings though, but that seems like a fair point and not something that Dahlia herself wants to put on the internet anyway. She makes an Instagram (because Facebook is for old people) and a Tumblr. Her mom draws the line at Snapchat, though, at least until she’s had a chance to meet Al and their parents: “Just like with all your other friends, dear. I think that’s fair, don’t you?”

Dahlia begrudgingly agrees, but she’s too pleased in the face of her other victories and the power of _instant messaging_ that is possible on both those platforms to be grumpy for long. She knows that Al had had no such feelings of obligation to ask their parents for permission to create social media and has been happily Tumblring since last year. Their blog is mostly aesthetic stuff interspersed with anime gifs, which Dahlia has learned is pretty much Al in a nutshell. After a while, Dahlia gets bored with Instagram and just hangs out on Tumblr chatting with Al and sending memes back and forth. 

This is also the year that Al tells her that their school will finally allow email and other electronic communication, which means that this is the end of the awful three-month long radio silences. Truly, Dahlia couldn’t be more excited.

That is, until Al begins messaging her at school throughout their day as interesting stuff happens to them. So it is now that Dahlia can firmly and resolutely tell that Al’s friend S _definitely_ has a crush on them. She is equally certain that Al is completely oblivious to why S does the things he does and what could possibly motivate him to spend all his time supporting and furthering Al’s projects. She can’t wait to see where this goes.

* * *

After a full school year of contentedly curating memes for each other., Dahlia is just waiting to see what kind of shenanigans will pop up at the next year’s Pride. So when nothing seems to happen, she gets nervous and is certain that either she or Al is going to fall into a really deep hole or something that will prevent them from meeting each other. 

It had taken some (a lot of) convincing, but her dad had sided with the kids and so Mum had relented and allowed the kids to explore the festival on their own this year. She was a nervous wreck, of course, but Dahlia’s dad had assured her that the kids knew what to do and that it had to happen at some point. 

Hayden says he wants to check out the various stalls and then he’ll circle around and meet Dahlia, since she wants to get ice cream and the line will probably be long in this hot, sunny weather. Dahlia agrees and heads straight for the ice cream cart where she gets in line at the same time as the posh blond kid from last year.

The boy and Dahlia just stand there staring at each other for a few seconds, and then both take a step forward at the same time to assume their place in line. Both of them frown, then another step.

“ _I_ was _definitely_ here first, blondie, so you can just go ahead and get behind me in line now.”

“Looks like your eyes are on backwards today because I was totally here before you. Now get back!”

The two lean in and look about two seconds from a fistfight when a voice calls out, “Hey, what are you doing to my best friend?!”

They both turn to look and there, in the flesh before her, is Al.

Her reaction is obvious.

“Al! What do you mean _best friend?!”_

Al doesn’t have a response to that, having turned into a gaping fish. The posh blond kid looks like the doorstop that twangs when you kick it, his head is whipping back and forth so quickly. The stupor is only broken by the ice cream line moving forward around them, and the blond kid and Dahlia get in line beside each other wordlessly because this looks like the kind of conversation that will require ice cream to get through.

At this point, Hayden rematerializes from his tour of the stalls and notices the blond kid immediately. “Hey!” he exclaims. “You’re that guy who got into a competition last year with my sister betting who could eat 6 donuts faster and ended up throwing up on your shoes! Hi again!”

The kid turns redder than a tomato as Al slowly, their neck turning one degree at a time, turns to stare at him. 

Hayden, it turns out, is excellent at holding grudges against people who insult his sister. 

The four talk over ice cream, and Al is astonished to put two and two together and learn that the posh kid Dahlia had written about last year is none other than their _school_ best friend, S (“No one could replace you as my best friend!” they hastily assure Dahlia. She slowly sets down the plastic spoon she’d been raising in response). 

“But wait,” Dahlia interjects. “Weren’t you French before or something?”

S’s cheeks turn a tad pink again as he replies, “I’m still French!”

“...”

“Okay, and maybe I was faking the accent. I’m only a quarter.”

“I _knew_ it!”

Ice cream (sadly) gone, Dahlia mentions that her mum would love to meet Al (translation: she wants final confirmation that Al is a real child and not a pedophile in disguise). They all make their way over to where Dahlia’s mum is chatting with some of the parents from the support group that she’s made friends with over the years.

Introductions are made, and Mum is thrilled (and a little relieved) to meet Al. She asks if Al and S are siblings, which the two find hilarious, and then serenely comments that if she’s learned one thing in her life, it’s not to assume. She then asks if either of their parents are around, so Al sends a text to their mum, who happens to be getting an ice cream of her own with S’s mum.

By the end of it, the three mothers have bonded and exchanged numbers, which may or may not turn out to be a mistake because their powers combined are greater than the sum.

(Afterwards, Al’s mum asks who these people are and why does Al seem to be so close with them, seems like they are quite familiar with Al?)

(What follows is a 10-minute lecture about safety, and Al comes away with the understanding that they will continue not to tell their mum anything. They know she loves them, and they love her, but not as a mum. If anything, she’s most suited to be a cool aunt, but mothering is not really in her nature. It’s why Jamie, Al, and Lily Luna all live with their dad.)

The rest of the summer is the happiest in Dahlia’s memory because a) she can show off her mad MMA skills (on S) because b) Al and S are dropped off at the Dursley’s home to hang out whenever her mum is working from home. She thinks it’s a little odd that she never goes over to either of their houses, but both Al and S (she _will_ find out his name, sooner or later. Al has been torturing her because they can see that it bothers her but they seem to derive pleasure from her frustration, the _jerk_ ) are quick to assure her that their houses just won’t work out. Dahlia’s mum doesn’t really like that answer, but either or both of the other two’s mums say something that manages to convince her, so every few days she opens her home to a 14- and 15-year old and hopes that her home will stay intact. 

Dahlia’s dad is perplexed at first by their presence when he comes home from work, but by the end of the summer, he’s treating them like his own children and has practically adopted them.

(If Al and this S kid can bring such happiness to his family, then they must be a good sort, right?)

* * *

The next year, Dahlia is excited to see Al the instant they come back from boarding school for the summer. Al and S are just as excited, but S’s mum had been delayed at work and is still in Japan, and Al’s mum is busy with a deadline (and everyone in the family knows that if anyone disturbs her, she’ll turn their bogeys into bats and beat them with said bats) (Dahlia, lacking the context of magic for this threat, imagines cricket bats. She resolves then and there never to upset Al’s mum.)

And so Dahlia meets Al’s dad for the first time. He seems kind of scatterbrained when he drops off Al and S (Stanley? Stephen? Stuart? She’s been guessing alphabetically for the past nine months and still hasn’t got it). It’s when Mr. Potter comes to pick them up that Dahlia’s world explodes. 

He’d been a little late, texting Al that he’d had some trouble finding someone to mind the foster kids until finally he’d “led them to Uncle Ron’s ice cream parlor and left them there and now I’m going to swing by and pick up you and S,” Al reads aloud from their phone. At that moment, the doorbell rings. Before any of them can move, they hear footsteps as Dahlia’s dad, who had gotten home just moments earlier, snicks open the lock and the door creaks open. Then, silence.

And then all three of them hear the odd sound of someone falling to the floor, and then the distinct sounds of _weeping_.

Dahlia leaps to her feet and races down the stairs, building up momentum. She has been doing MMA for years now, so Al, S, and Hayden are unable to slow or stop her as she _flying sidekicks_ the person standing in the doorway who’s done this to her dad.

Who happens to be Al’s dad.

Well, shit.

* * *

Much like ice cream had been necessary when Dahlia, Al, Scorpius, and Hayden had met last summer, everyone in the room tacitly agrees that this conversation will necessitate tea. S goes to put the kettle on while Dahlia leads her dad and Al leads theirs to the sitting room. Once everyone is nicely arranged and has a steaming cup of tea in their hands, the kids wait for the two adults to do something besides just _stare_ at each other.

Eventually, the stress gets to Dahlia and she asks, “Dad, do you know Mr. Potter?”

This gets Mr. Potter’s attention. His head swivels to stare at _her_ now, and she raises her chin defiantly. Not knowing exactly what the situation is, she instinctively takes a defensive position and she _will_ fight Mr. Potter if he tries anything.

“This… is your daughter, Dudley?”

A small smile breaks through the dread and pallor of Dahlia’s dad’s face. “Yeah, this is my daughter, Dahlia.”

“Well… this is my kid, Al. I’m sure you know them already, since it seems like these two are friends?” Mr. Potter is still staring at her dad, but he looks a bit more like a human and less like a fish out of water. Marginally. At least something is actually happening now. “As well as Scorpius, it seems. Al, you really like to put your dad through emotional turmoil, huh.”

 _”Scorpius?”_ Dahlia shrieks. “You’re telling me that the S is for _Scorpius?!_ ”

“What do you mean, Dad?” Al asks at the same time. “ _I_ never did anything!”

“N-no it doesn’t!” Scorpius denies fervently yet unconvincingly. “Al’s dad is just… um… he’s just messing with you!”

(The immediate chaos causes both men to roll their eyes at one another in mutual understanding of teenage children, and then they both realize with _whom_ they are having a shared experience with and quickly avert their eyes.)

Eventually, the story comes out. Dahlia explains how she and Al had met. Harry explains that Dudley’s family are his only remaining blood relatives.

“Though I suppose I now have at least one more,” he muses, looking at Dahlia.

“Two, actually!” Hayden announces from behind one of the couches with a flourish. It’s astounding how such a bulky teenager manages to minimize his presence to nothing when he wants to, but that’s just one of Hayden’s special talents. “My name is Hayden, I’m Dahlia’s younger brother.”

Mr. Potter looks at him, then frowns slightly. His mouth opens and closes but no sound comes out. “You… are you sure?”

The air around Hayden seems to get slightly colder as he becomes defensive himself. “Am I sure that I’m Hayden Dursley? Yes, in fact.”

“No, I just mean… do they know?“ He directs this question at Dahlia’s dad, panickedly raising his eyebrows comically quickly and waving his hand as if he’s sauteeing some imaginary frying pan. Dahlia’s dad looks confused for a moment before a shocked expression comes over him.

“No… no they don’t. I never saw a need to, since I thought you were d-- erm, that you weren’t going to pop on by anytime soon. Is there… _should_ I have?”

Mr. Potter turns his gaze back to Hayden and says, “I believe so… I can’t be certain right now, but I’m pretty sure of it…”

Hayden, who has never been one amenable to standing around while others discuss him as if he’s not there, pipes up, “What, that I’m half-Indian? Spit it out! What is it!”

Mr. Potter is back to looking like an overwhelmed animal. He turns desperately to Al, then to _Scorpius_ (seriously, she would never have guessed _that_ , it’s so unfair that he didn’t just _tell her_ ), before realizing that 16-year olds cannot help him with whatever the issue is. A resigned air seems to come over him.

“Hayden,” he whispers. “You’re a wizard.”

* * *

There is silence, and there is _silence_. Dahlia hadn’t quite understood the difference between the two until the exact moment when she was sure Mr. Potter had suffered some kind of traumatic brain injury due to her flying sidekick. She turns to Al and _Scorpius_ , expecting them to start laughing so she can join in too, but instead they are staring at Hayden, just as shell-shocked as Mr. Potter had been a moment ago.

Then pandemonium ensues, courtesy of the three teenage boys in the room.

“What do you mean--”

“The hell?! Why isn’t he at Hogwarts then!”

“--absolute rubbish is coming out of your mouth--”

“--Hufflepuff maybe? Or wait, maybe Slytherin--”

“--not the time for--”

“--could have been partying it up at Hogwarts with the Dursleys--”

“--saying that I didn’t need to--”

“--and furthermore I will be suing--”

“--agonizing over whether I was using Muggle terminology correctly--”

“But what about Dahlia?!”

Abruptly, the cacophony of voices stops. The three boys’ mouths are still moving, but no sound is coming out. When Al realizes what has happened, their hands immediately come up and they throw what are clearly some very barbed words in sign language at their dad. Mr. Potter is holding a wooden stick and rubbing the bridge of his nose, his glasses shifting upwards with the motion. This is clearly a man who regularly deals with children, Dahlia muses with the part of her brain that isn’t in shock right now.

Mr. Potter begins to talk. “I can’t tell with Dahlia. But definitely Hayden, although a low enough level that Hogwarts must have decided against sending an acceptance letter for some reason. He would probably be classified as a Squib, though if I can sense him, I can’t fathom _why_ that would be the case.”

Dahlia tries to speak and finds that whatever Mr. Potter had done to take away her friends’ and brother’s voices, he had not done it to her. “I’m still confused. Can you start from the beginning, or give a simplified version?”

Mr. Potter takes a deep breath and slips his wooden stick back into his sleeve. “Magic is real, wixen live hidden from non-magical society, and Hayden has some magic, though not enough to go to the same school for magic as Al and Scorpius.”

“Ex- _cuse_ me?” cries Dahlia’s mum, who has just come home and stepped through the doorway.

Well.

Okay.

* * *

By the time Mr. Potter leaves with Al and Scorpius in tow, the explanation has been wrung out of him at least three times and he rather looks like he’s been hit by a train. This last was partially due to the force that is Sonia Dursley, but majorly due to the conversation that Dahlia had overheard when she had slipped away from the chaos of her mum and Hayden interrogating Al and Scorpius. 

Her dad and Mr. Potter were seated on the front stoop together, looking rather awkward because of the space they’d enforced between them. Dahlia had been about to step outside and stand with her dad (because she still doesn’t quite trust Mr. Potter) when he began to speak.

“Harry,” he starts. There is a long moment of silence, and then his shoulders begin to shake, and she hears his breath hitching. “I-I don’t know where to start. I’ve practiced this in my head who knows how many times, but deep down I was sure that you’d died in that war. It messed me up, you know? That us Dursleys had used you and abused you for years and years and you still made arrangements so that we wouldn’t be killed by your wizard war. I don’t want to make it about me, but I’ll just say that the thought that I had done so much wrong to someone who was probably dead and could never, _ever_ make it up and do right by him again has kept me in therapy for years. And now you’re here, and you’re my daughter’s best friend’s dad, and… I don’t know how to deal with this. My therapist is going to have a lot to work with on Tuesday.” He takes a pause here, breathing deeply through the tears Dahlia knows are flowing down his cheeks. “It’s not even the tiniest drop in the bucket, but… I’m sorry, Harry. I’m sorry for what I did as a kid, I’m sorry for what I _didn’t_ do as a kid, and every day I try to live my life in a way that will balance out all the harm I did. I try to raise my kids so that they’ll never be like me, and I hope to myself that this can even begin to approach making it up to you. I’m so, so, so sorry.” He sinks his head to his knees at this last, his shoulders beginning to shake uncontrollably as he starts sobbing.

Mr. Potter’s eyes are wide behind his spectacles, his mouth agape. He opens and closes it several times noiselessly (Dahlia wonders if he has accidentally cast the same spell on himself that he had on Hayden, Al, and _Scorpius_ ) before sound comes out. He extends an arm and hesitantly settles it on her dad’s shoulder.

“Dud,” Mr. Potter replies, bending low so he can look at her dad’s bowed face. “It sucked, yeah? It really, really did. But you being able to admit that it was wrong and trying to make it up to me by raising some really great kids is pretty good proof that you’ve changed. You’ve done a good job. Keep it up.”

Dahlia had left at that point because it was too much information and emotion for her to handle. Frankly, she rather wishes that she’d never heard any of it, and now she very clearly understands how some conversations were never meant for others to hear. At least it seemed that things were on the mend between her dad and his cousin.

* * *

After that evening, Al and Scorpius are brought over the next two days by their respective mums who want to apologize for keeping secrets but also observe Hayden as if he’s some zoo creature. Both of them confirm that when they focus, they can also sense an underlying current of magic within him, but they also insist that neither of them are as sensitive as Draco, whom they want to bring over.

Draco turns out to Scorpius’s dad, and when he arrives on the doorstep, Dahlia can see that his son is the absolute spitting image of him.

(Dahlia had pulled Scorpius aside the first day to interrogate him on his name. In the chaos the previous day, she had forgotten that Scorpius was trans and thus had probably chosen his name himself, and she wanted to know a) why he chose it and b) why he had hidden it from her. When she discovered that he had kept with the family tradition of constellation names much for the same reason she had chosen a flower name, her attitude towards him softened considerably. And then when she found out that he hadn’t told her his full name just to fuck with her a little bit, she had tackled him to the ground and wrestled him for his insolence.)

(Though in all honesty, Scorpius hadn’t revealed his name because it seemed to be very clearly a wizard’s name. He hadn’t been sure of how different Muggle names were, but he figured it was better to be safe than sorry.)

Mr. Malfoy gives the same speech about tentative agreement but still not completely sure and suggests Goblin testing, whatever that is.

Al’s mum (Dahlia still isn’t sure what to call her, since she divorced Mr. Potter but didn’t keep his name like Mrs. Malfoy did, and also she told them to call her Ginny but Dahlia and Hayden are Physically Not Capable of That) pales at the suggestion. “That’s exorbitant--”

“Of course!” Mrs. Malfoy cries. To Al’s mum she whispers, “Don’t worry about the cost, I can spot it.” She ends her sentence with a wink, and Dahlia can see Al’s mum’s face blush furiously. Huh.

Goblin testing turns out to entail Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, Dahlia, and Hayden being zapped to a bright, colorful, bustling alley which they navigate through to head to a magical bank, where short magical folk then lead them into a back room with opulently decorated walls. There is so much gold, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds on the walls that Dahlia can’t even tell what color the wall underneath is, though she thinks it’s stone. The only item on the floor in the room is a marble basin containing a gently humming stack of three balls made of brass with runes inscribed every which way on the spheres.

The goblin in charge of them, Slashfoot, intones, “Here shall we begin the examination of latent magical ability. Tester one, please step forward and lift the Spheres of Theon. Hold them until you can no longer do so.”

Mr. Malfoy gestures for Hayden to go up to the basin. He turns to look at Dahlia first, and she squeezes his hand reassuringly, reminding her of that long-ago day when she had needed to borrow some of his courage to come out to their family.

Hayden grins blindingly at her and then bounds up to the basin and hefts the brass spheres out. He holds them near his navel and manages that for about 17 seconds before his arms give out and the balls fall towards the floor, only to rebound gracefully and land back in the basin in their original configuration. Dahlia figures it’s some kind of magic thing and tries not to think too hard about it.

(This has been her way of coming to terms with adding an entirely new world with new rules to her existing one: just don’t think too hard about it.)

Slashfoot announces boredly, “Tester one has held the Spheres of Theon for 17 seconds. The average wix, according to our previous tests with this artifact, is able to resist the magic-negating effects of the Spheres for 43 seconds. The difference of seven prime numbers between the two imply that tester one’s magic levels are 1/3.5 that of the average wix.”

Dahlia is among the top students in her school for maths and is fairly certain that there’s some kind of logical fallacy in that (and Dahlia will have a hell of a time when she finds out how wixen currency is organized), but before she has time to figure out precisely what it is, she is ushered forth to be tested for magic. 

The brass is warm and vibrates slightly under her hands. When she lifts the stack, the balls begin to rotate independently of each other, yet strangely she has no trouble holding them steady. They don’t seem to weigh anything at first, but after seven seconds they are unbearably heavy and her arms give out. The spheres tumble towards the floor but change their mind and go back to sitting in the basin.

Slashfoot makes a similar announcement as before, declaring Dahlia to have 1/5 the magic of the average wix. Once again, Dahlia starts trying to figure out how that could mathematically make sense, but her thoughts are interrupted by Mr. Malfoy saying, “Well, that answers that. Potter, want to have a go with me?”

Mr. Potter looks surprised and must take a moment too long to respond because then Mr. Malfoy adds, “What, Potter, you’re too scared to cradle some balls in front of me?”

If ever there were a way to make someone related to Al Potter do something, it’s to imply that they are too scared to do it. This is a rule Dahlia had privately learned years ago, and it seems that Mr. Potter is just one more statistic proving her correct. 

“Fine,” he fires back, a glint in his eye.

“Extra cost will be incurred for the addition of two tests,” Slashfoot advises, doing a piss-poor job of sounding apologetic as he says this. Dahlia thinks she can literally see the reflection of gold coins stacking up in his eyes. 

“Add it to the billing account,” Mr. Malfoy replies, not looking away from Mr. Potter. He steps up to the basin and, on the goblin’s signal, scoops up the stack of spheres. After 47 seconds, the balls tumble to the floor and then arc up to arrange themselves in the basin. 

Mr. Potter steps forwards then and picks up the stack.

139 seconds later, Slashfoot calls off the challenge. “There’s no point in going on longer. Tester four, please drop the Spheres.” 

Dahlia is pretty sure she should be impressed by that, and she is, but it’s not a candle to the look on Mr. Malfoy’s face. He opens his mouth to say something, but Mr. Potter cuts him off.

“Okay great! Let’s get out of here.” He lets go of the balls and walks as fast as socially acceptable towards the doorway, making it clear that he doesn’t want to talk about his test results. 

Left with no other alternative, the other three file out after him.

* * *

Afterwards, Mr. Potter insists that all the stuffiness inside the bank has made him hungry and he invites Dahlia and Hayden to come with him to Al’s grandparents’ house. 

It all sounds a little fishy, and then Mr. Malfoy snorts and says, “You’ll only be doing a favor if you tell them, Potter. Imagine walking into your Weasley’s Burrow _blindsided_.”

Mr. Potter deflates a little. “Alright, alright. It’s Al’s surprise birthday party today and also a sort of surprise ‘welcome to the family’ party for you and your parents as well. We’ve already cleared it with them, so would you do us the honor of joining us? Al doesn’t know you’re coming, they’re only expecting a small family gathering at the Burrow.”

Dahlia and Hayden look at each other, then back to Mr. Potter, and then they nod. No words are needed between the two: if it involves playing a prank on Al, they’re down for it.

Saying yes involves being zapped ( _Apparated_ ) again to a quiet part of the countryside on which sits a funky little house. There must be some kind of spell over the house to make it quiet, because as soon as Dahlia takes a step forward, the bustle of 40 people rushing around doing last-minute preparations or playing raucously with other children (depending on the age of the person in question) washes over her. She spots Al’s mum among the chaos flying on a literal _broomstick_ to drape strings of violet streamers across the orchard foliage. 

There is a _crack!_ behind her, and when Dahlia turns her head she sees that Mrs. Malfoy has arrived with a hand each on her mum and dad. Both of them look rather in a state.

Her mum is the first to open her eyes. She brings a hand to her mouth in shock, the other reaching out blindly until she grasps Dahlia’s dad’s arm and squeezes tightly. Her dad shifts her grip down to his own hand, and it’s clear that he’s giving back as much as he’s getting. Dahlia thinks back to the conversation she’d overheard between him and Mr. Potter and realizes that he’s got a mental block of his own to work through. 

The Dursleys are ushered into the house by a harried-looking older woman (with whom Al’s mum bears a striking similarity) and instructed where to stand so as to be out of view of Al when they arrive. 

Then the whole house is shushed into complete silence. Dahlia has picked up that she should be watching the fireplace, though she’s not quite sure why until emerald green flames burst into life within the grate and the forms of first Scorpius and then her best friend appear and step out. 

Al doesn’t even have a chance to brush the soot from their clothes before everyone leaps into the middle with a shout of “SURPRISE!”

Scorpius falls on his butt (Dahlia chuckles a little at that) but Al barely bats an eye, clearly used to the antics of their family. That’s when they catch sight of first Hayden, whose presence is almost impossible to miss, and then Dahlia. 

“AHHHH!” Al screams. “What are you all _doing_ here?!” They run up to Dahlia and give her a big hug.

This seems to be the signal for the party to get rolling. Al’s grandmother urges everyone to head outside where tables of food have been set up, their legs creaking under the weight of the delicacies upon them. Dahlia spots pot pies; red cabbage slaw; three different kinds of roast potatoes; a literal mountain of potato salad; skewers upon skewers of chicken, beef, courgettes, mushrooms; corn and tomato salad; stuffed peppers and aubergines; and of course the roast itself. There’s a separate table for desserts, but Dahlia doesn’t notice what’s on it because Al is holding her attention and trying to introduce her to people.

It’s surreal, being surrounded by so much family that is hers by extension. The Dursleys have been just the four of them for so many years now. Dahlia can barely even remember the sour-faced woman that is her paternal grandmother, and there is no family on her mum’s side to be able to remember. To go from that to this populous chaos is overwhelming, but also it feels very nice.

Then the confusion starts.

“So I’ve got a lot of cousins,” Al preemptively apologizes. “But we’re gonna run through them quickly anyway and maybe some of them will stick.”

Before they can even start, Hayden has opened his mouth. “Hey!” he shouts. “Reading buddies! Where have you been?”

The two in question look back in surprise. Dahlia struggles to remember their names, because it’s been several years since she and Hayden had read together with these two siblings regularly together at the public library after school. “That’s right!” she exclaims, pointing in excitement. “Molly and Lucy!”

“Wait, you know--” Al begins, but is cut off once more because Dahlia has spotted--

“ _YOU!_ ” she yells in indignation, jabbing her finger at Fred II and Roxanne Weasley. “Had, look, it’s those two siblings who fell from the sky into a tree and told us they were British ninjas! I _told you_ they weren’t telling the truth!”

Hayden whips around to follow her finger. “You weren’t ninjas at _all!_ You’re just magical! Fake! Fake! You’re all fake!”

“From the sky?” Fred II laughs nervously. “I surely have no idea what you’re talking about and it _definitely_ didn’t involve Dad’s prototype brooms that turn invisible in Muggle areas.”

“Er--” Al tries again, but they are once more interrupted by--

“Is this a bad time to say that we know them too?” a voice pipes up. Dahlia turns to look and yes, there are Rose and Hugo, the kids they’d met just two years ago during an outing to the aquarium. The reminder of aquatic animals jogs her memory to a day four years ago, on the beach. No, it would be too much of a coincidence, they couldn’t possibly be here… 

She turns her head slightly, and there are Dom and Louie, all grown up now, the two kids she and Hayden had played with on a random beach in Cornwall.

There is only one appropriate reaction to this.

“I need a cuppa,” Dahlia announces, turning around to do just that.

By this point, some of the adults have cottoned on that this isn’t the usual chaos of children and have come over to enjoy the show. Naturally, there can be but one logical consequence.

“Hey,” says the lone Brit among the Romanian dragon-tamers that Dahlia had been certain she’d fever-dreamed. “Weren’t you kids the ones who--”

“ARGH!!” Dahlia screams.

* * *

(In a family as large as the Weasleys, the commotion that ensued when everyone learned that Dahlia and Hayden had coincidentally met not only their some-kind-of cousins at a Pride Fest but also almost every member of the Weasley clan in subsequent years could only be described as riotous.)

(We will leave them to it.)

* * *

_Ten months later_

Dahlia thinks that her life could not much be improved. She is sitting on a bench at Pride, the same one where she had met Al all those years ago. Scorpius is sitting on their other side, occasionally shooting daggers from his eyes at Dahlia. She sticks her tongue out at him in response. While much of her life may be settled in other ways, the War for Al’s Best Friend Status is still going strong. Dahlia has recently begun a campaign strategy of “kill him with kindness” and signed Scorpius up for a chocolate subscription box. After all, what kind of best friend would she be if she can’t make nice for Al’s other, inferior friends?

She should have foreseen the consequences when Scorpius retaliated by showing up at her doorstep with a pair of trans pride Converse. She hates that they are exactly her style and is in fact wearing them right now as she eats her mint chocolate chip ice cream. 

Al and Scorpius are quietly discussing the state of their project. It turns out they were pretty distraught at discovering Hayden’s lack of acceptance and had pioneered a project to find out how Hogwarts determines admissions. Scorpius has mostly taken the lead on the project though, and the current argument is for Scorpius to relinquish some of his workload so he can focus more on their last year of school and impending career choice decision. After the Magic Reveal last year, Al had confessed that they wanted to become the wix version of a doctor (a “Healer”), and that Scorpius wanted to be one too. Dahlia privately thinks that Scorpius doesn’t really want to be a d--Healer, and she wonders when Al will notice that Scorpius’s determination to take on their projects is at least half-fueled by an enormous crush. Actually, that would better be phrased as _if_ Al will ever notice. Hm. Maybe it’s time to do something about this. Dahlia’s known for almost two years that there’s _something_ between them.

“I’m telling you, it can’t be our fight! We just don’t have the time, and we’ll have our NEWTs soon, so we should put our resources into recruiting people to maintain our cause!”

“Al, I can do it! I’ll do whatever I need to do, because this is for _us_ , and don’t you want to leave a legacy--”

“Scorpius,” Dahlia interrupts. “Let’s cut to the chase. Al, this boy over here has been mad for you for years and you haven’t noticed. Discuss.” She makes to rise and walk away, but Al grabs her hand. 

“What?” he yelps. “You can’t just drop that on a person and leave! I thought you two had feelings for each other!”

“Ew! Gross!” Dahlia and Scorpius squawk in unison. They turn to glare at each other, annoyed that they had said the same thing.

Scorpius turns back to Al. “I thought _you_ had feelings for her! The way you talk about her…”

“We’re _cousins!_ ” Al shouts in reply.

Scorpius gives them a blank stare.

“Oh, right,” Al rubs the back of their head sheepishly. “I forgot that that’s not so big of a thing in your family, huh.”

“You’re probably more distantly related than my dad and mum are.”

“...Aaaand that’s the end of that conversation!” Dahlia claps her hands together a little desperately, eager to change the subject. “Let’s talk more about how Scorpius thought that Al might have feelings for Dahlia, Al thought that Scorpius might have feelings for Dahlia, and Dahlia thinks that Dahlia has no feelings for anyone and the two of you should just kiss already!”

With that, she dashes away gleefully, hotly pursued by her best friend and best enemy as they try to catch her and make her eat her words.

There’s so many unexpected places her life has gone. She never would have expected the “magic is real” talk, nor the sudden acquisition of an enormous family. Wherever life decides to take her now; whether Al and Scorpius will catch up to her, whether they really do have feelings for each other or not, whether Hayden will end up learning limited magic via private tutors, she’s looking forward to finding out.


End file.
